Justification
by Kit-Pocket
Summary: Drabbles about the characters of Death Note. Some pairings, light yaoi, though rating may go up. Chapter Four: Nothingness.
1. Darkness

Author's note: These drabbles are mostly just practice, and are just written whenever I can think of something. Don't think too much of them.

--

Light. Illumination. Radiance. Goodness. The meaning behind it is so obvious it makes L want to cry.

But he doesn't, of course. L does not cry. He thinks.

Logical. Emotionless. Cold.

Does that make him the darkness? The darkness is always cold. Freezing, even; making bones brittle and skin able to shatter with the slightest touch.

If Kira is Light, and L is darkness, then which one is the true justice? A murderer is a murderer, but everyone knows that darkness is associated with evil. And light is always good. Light is goodness.

L thinks and thinks and thinks, and it feels like the thoughts are pouring out his eyes in place of tears. Yet no one can see them. His eyes are cold.

Dark.


	2. Dying Together

When Misa opens her eyes, she sees death. She looks upon someone and instantly knows who they are and when they will die. Some would be disturbed by this, but for Misa, it's amazing. Even with her sunny disposition, she always was rather morbid.

Sometimes she wonders when Light will die. And when she will die. She wishes Rem would tell her, but at the same time, she doesn't want to know.

But she hopes they die at the same time.

Dying in Light's arms—Light dying in hers—dying in each other's—it would be amazing.

Misa doesn't want to die, of course. And she doesn't want Light to die. But if they had to, she would like them to be together.

She doesn't know that L died in Light's arms. And she doesn't know Light will die miles away from hers.

But for now, she dreams. Dreams of dying for her savior. With her savior.

She smiles. Amazing.

--

_Author's Notes: Misa would gladly die for Light. But at the same time, I think there's a dark, romantic part of her that wants Light to die with her when she does._


	3. Deja Vu

_Author's Note: Man, I have the weirdest ideas. I don't even know if this makes sense, but I like it._

_Warning: Slight yaoi. Just a kiss, don't worry._

* * *

Light sat upon a bed in a room he did not remember.

It was not that he did not recognize it. The room had a vague familiarity to it, as though Light had been there before, and that this had happened before but it really hadn't, no matter how much he believed it had.

Was it déjà vu? That seemed most likely, but at the same time it didn't.

Light thought for a moment that someone else was remembering this room for him, and telling him that they remembered it and making him remember it, but not really remember. But that made no sense, and Light wondered where his reason had gone, and how he had gotten to this room and on this bed.

There were no windows, no open doors, no lamps. Nothing to illuminate the room. And yet it was not dark. The room was grey, like fog, though everything was clear.

A door opened. Or at least, he thought one did. He felt it. Someone had gone through something and was in the room with him.

He could not see them, but he felt them. And they had the same feeling with them as the room. Light remembered them, but did not remember.

He wondered if anything would be certain while he was in this room.

They were moving towards him. Again, he did not see it. He only felt it. But he knew it was happening. But did he really know? He couldn't tell.

It seemed that he had been right, for the person was now in front of him. He assumed they had walked in front of him, but he thought that they had suddenly appeared, without warning or first stepping into view. Light was not alarmed, though he thought he maybe ought to be. Another thing he was not sure of.

The person was grey, as the room was, yet Light could feel the colors, bland as they were. Black, white, more grey. Not colors. Shades. Not even the skin had color. It could only be described as pale.

The person did not move, slouched over as he was, horrendous, monstrous in his posture. Light thought he saw black wings on the person's back, a wide grin flash across the faceless skin, but he was not sure. Human? Maybe not.

But the wings and grin weren't there. Just the person.

And in an instant Light felt an explosion inside himself, a feeling of great recollection, in which he remembered everything and knew where he was and who stood in front of him and knew that this was who he had been waiting for.

But this feeling made as little sense as everything else, as Light did not remember. He had only the feeling. He still did not know where he was or who this person was, and he did not even know whether he had been waiting for this person or not. But he felt as though he had. But he did not know. _He_ _did not know_. How could he put faith in just these feelings?

Feelings weren't enough. They were never enough.

Feelings could take over the body and control someone against their will, even if it was their will that was controlling them.

_I can't afford to develop feelings. That's how most idiots screw up._

Hadn't he said that once? He felt as though he had.

That was when Light realized. Something was different. Something had changed as Light had been lost in his thoughts.

Something wet was streaming down his cheeks, and someone was wiping the wetness away. The person in front of him was closer, their finger at his cheek, wiping it away.

The person's face was not visible to Light, even as they drew closer. And somehow, that hurt.

Feeling. Feeling.

"I hate myself," Light wanted to say. But the feelings were too overwhelming. Light couldn't move his lips to speak.

The person drew in even closer until it seemed like their faces would collide. They did. The person was kissing him. Light couldn't move his lips to kiss.

Why did he hate himself? Why did he want to? Did he hate himself for what he had done, for who he had hurt? He couldn't remember either now. He didn't understand. He had always understood everything, but now nothing made sense.

Maybe he just hated these feelings. So much feeling. Was it emotional? Physical? Spiritual? Light couldn't even classify it.

But these lips on his were healing him. He could feel it.

And as he began to feel it, they weren't there anymore.

The room was empty, save him and that damned bed. And grey. So much grey.

Light thought he cried. He couldn't know.


	4. Nothingness

_Author's Note: A look at Mu, and how souls move and interact. If people have soul mates while alive, imagine how it is while being dead._

_I like this one. A lot._

* * *

Nothing was right. Nothing was wrong. It was all just in between here. That's what it was, wasn't it? Nothing. Nothingness.

Damn, L hated being dead.

It was all so boring. He had always thought that when he died, he would simply stop existing. He had not believed in an afterlife. Death was death. He would end.

Figures that the one time he was wrong, it was for eternity.

This place wasn't black or white or any color or shade. It didn't conform to that cliché of the afterlife, the romanticized refuge for souls who have left their bodies. There was no pure white of Heaven. There were no blazing, blood red fires of Hell.

There was no way to explain it, really. Nothingness was nothing. And yet L lived in it, as others surely did.

He couldn't talk to anyone else, or look upon the mortal world as he once looked into others' lives with his cameras. Sometimes he thought he felt a spark, though, as his soul brushed against something—another soul, maybe.

Were they all just in a giant fish bowl? A bunch of dead fish, floating around and bumping against each other and off of the glass walls. L might have laughed if he still had vocal chords.

He had no idea how long it had been since his death. Maybe it had been centuries. Maybe no time had passed at all. (If that was the case, then eternity was going to take a _long_ time.)

He sure had a lot of time for thinking. No doubt one day his brain—or whatever made him think—would just stop, seeing no point to working any longer, and he would just float, mindless, blank. The dead fish would finally stop twitching. Most likely this would take longer for him than it did for most, as L had the brain power to sustain his sanity and thinking processes longer. But it would happen, and L was surprised to find he did not fear it.

In fact, he found himself thinking that it might be nice to not have to think anymore.

That train of thought stopped. He began wondering about other things. He tried to remember songs he had heard in his lifetime, to try and see if listening to the songs in his head would help alleviate the boredom.

When the only songs he could remember were the annoying jingles that were always annoying him while he was living, he turned to composition, writing a masterpiece in his head as time went on. The instruments of his mind had that voice of thought that accompanied everything, even music. They held that hum, that buzz of something electric and chemical that you could have sworn was a sound but you knew you weren't actually _hearing_. With the delightfully simple and slightly odd melody, the high and low notes coming together and flowing like waves in an ocean, the hum of L's brain made a nice effect. Too bad no one would ever hear it.

Just then, L felt a spark somewhere on his form. He must have bumped into someone.

He dismissed it and went back to his symphony.

But then the spark was back. And it was not only in that one spot now. It seemed to be spreading over him, all over his body.

His body.

He could feel a body!

Whatever the spark was, it was giving him shape, it was giving him life. L had arms, he had legs, and he could move them as he wanted, as much as he wanted, every which way, wriggling like a squid. He didn't do this, but he knew that he could, and the spark wasn't finished.

The spark was spreading to his mind and lighting up his brain, and yes, oh yes, he could feel it now, he had a brain, _a brain_ and _a shape_ and _a body _and he was alive!

At last he moved his limbs, his limbs that felt so flexible and strong and new, and the very first thing he did was grab onto the thing that was lighting him.

At the embrace of the thing (a soul? another soul? could they do this?) his body was engulfed in a flame of pure ecstasy, the rapture spreading from his toes to the very tips of every black strand of his hair.

A great convulsion racked his body, but this ecstasy was not sexual. This was joy, absolute joy, and L had never felt anything like this before and he feared he might never feel it again if he ever let go of this other thing, this other soul. (_Because it had to be a soul, this was nothingness and nothing else could be there._) This soul was his, he could feel it, and he was theirs and he knew that even if they somehow broke apart they would spend eternity trying to find each other again.

L lifted his head (_a head, a head even, and eyes as well_) to look at the soul the he held tight to his chest. The soul that continued to light him, that began to wrap its arms around him in return.

He stared at the soul with his black eyes, the eyes that had never shone so before now.

Two radiant amber eyes shone back.


End file.
